Part 36

"Yes," answered Juliet stoutly, "if she insisted."

"Women are capable of saying anything in an argument," he growled. "I say it's outrageous to let her do it. She doesn't love him--she does love me," he blurted.

Juliet turned to him anxiously. "Roger, do you know what you are saying?"

"Yes, I do. I've got to tell somebody, and there's nobody but you--you perfect woman. If ever a man knew a thing without its being put into words I know that. It was only a look, weeks ago, but I'm as sure of it as I am of myself. I've had nothing but coolness from her since, but that's in self-defense. And the thought that, loving me, she's going to give herself to him--a wreck--do you wonder it's driving me mad?"

"You ought not to have told me this," said Juliet, tears in her voice. "If Rachel is doing this it's because she's sure she ought----"

"Of course she is. And that's why I tell you. You have more influence with her than any one. Can't you show her that duty, the most urgent in the world, never requires a thing like that? Let her be his friend to the last--the sort of friend she knows how to be, with a warm hand in his cold one. But never his----"

The doctor grew choky with his vehemence, and stopped short. Juliet was silent, full of distress. She thought of the two men--Huntington, a frail ghost, in the grip of a deadly illness, yet fighting it desperately, and desperately clinging to the girl he loved: a clever fellow, educated as a mining engineer, successful, even beginning to be distinguished in his work until his health gave out; Barnes, the embodiment of strength, standing high in his profession, life and the world before him, a fit mate for the girl who deserved the best there could be for her--Juliet thought of them both and found her heart aching for them--and for Rachel Redding.

They were slowly approaching the brown house at the foot of the hill, the errand at the Evanstons' forgotten, when suddenly a familiar figure in white came toward them from the doorway. The doctor started at sight of it, and Juliet grew breathless all at once.

"I thought it was you two," said Rachel. "This rising moon struck you full just now, and I could see you plainly. I've wanted to see you both--and this is my last chance. I am going away to-morrow."

There was an instant's silence, while Roger Barnes tried to choose which of all the things he wanted to say to her should come first. Juliet broke the stillness.

"Walk back up the road with us, dear," she said, "and tell us how and where you go."

"I have but a minute to spare," said Rachel. "Let me say good-bye to you both here----"

"No, by heaven, you shall not," burst out the doctor in a suppressed voice of fire which startled Juliet. "You owe me ten minutes, in place of the last letter you haven't answered. There are a score of them, you know--but the last has to be answered somehow."

Rachel hesitated. "Very well," she said at length, "but only with Mrs. Robeson."

"Can't you trust me?" He was angry now.

"Yes--but not myself," she answered, so low he barely caught the words. He seized her hand.

"Then trust me for us both," he said, so instantly gentle and tender that Juliet found it possible to say what a moment before she had thought unwise enough: "Go with him, Ray, dear. I think it is his right."

So presently she found herself crossing her own lawn alone, while the two who had just left her went slowly on up the road together. Her heart was beating hard and painfully, for she loved them both, and foresaw for them only the hardest interview of their lives.

* * * * *

At the end of half an hour Rachel Redding stood again upon her own porch, and Roger Barnes looked up at her from the walk below with heavy eyes.

"At least," he said, "you have done what I never would have believed even you could do--convinced me against my will that you are right. You love him--he worships you. There is a promise of life for him in Arizona--with you. I can't forbid the bans. But I shall always believe, what you dare not dispute, that if I had come first--you----"

She held out her hand. "That you must not say," she said. "But there is one thing you may say--that you are my best friend, whom I can count on----"

"As long as there is life left in me," he answered fervently. He wrung her hand in both his, looked long and steadily up into her face as if his eyes could never leave the lovely outlines showing clear in the light from the windows, then turned away and strode off toward the station without a look behind.

XXI.--EVERYBODY GIVES ADVICE

"I should do it in brown leather," said Cathcart decidedly, looking about him.

He stood in the centre of Anthony's den. The carpenters had gone, the plasterers had finished their work, and the floor had just been swept up.

"You're all right as far as you go," observed Anthony, who stood at his elbow, "but you don't go far enough. If you want me to hang these walls with brown leather you'll have to put up the money. I may be sufficiently prosperous to afford the addition to my house, but I haven't reached the stage of covering the walls with cloth-of-gold."

"Burlap would be the thing, Tony," Judith suggested.